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Having the privilege to see one of [livejournal.com profile] emzlovesharry's many, many delicious fest submissions (She's so prolific! I feel very embarrassed in comparison!) reminded me of a pic I drew a while ago for the Snarry Games free-for-all challenge. Which... I never posted anywhere else, and consequently totally forgot about. Now, this journal is not at all systematic: my tagging system consists of 'fic' for my fic links, 'fanart' for my fanart, 'art' for my non-fan art, and 'meme' for my tragic addiction, but beyond that, you will see a mish-mash of headers, lack of headers, links to various places, oblique references to fics I never finish, and vanishing cut text with too much importance bestowed upon it. However, it is comprehensive: rarely will you find something somewhere else that I have created, that I have not at least linked to... and, after today, rarely will hopefully be never.



Notes: these were created for the Snarry Games Opening Games Free-For-All Challenge. The challenge was to create a drabble, drawble, ficlet or limerick based on an ickle prompt table... I did three of the four. And here they are!


1.
Title: Too drunk to...
Thing/Place/Action: Alcoholic Beverage/Street Corner/Coughing
Rating/Warnings/Kinks: PG-13 for drinking and smoking, and also... possible not-very-nice implications. Though I, ever the optimist, assume only good things.
Notes: Does it count if the alcoholic beverage is inside one Harry Potter?


The world is foggy and full of contrasts; the warm shoulder against him and the cold wall at his back, his numb fingers and his burning lungs, the bright puddle of light from the lamp on the corner and the blurred edges of the night beyond. He knows he's drunk, because he's smoking.

He's not even very good at it. Ron's laughing at him, but then Ron's drunk too, and Harry's coughing and laughing and feeling stupid. It feels like lost youth.

The other smokers form a smog about them. Harry can't breathe. He gestures, and Ron laughs, and he doesn't know if he's made his point, but he staggers off regardless. His feet won't hit the pavement where they should, and the wall looms up beside him, a friend and an enemy at once. Harry reaches out to it.

He reaches the corner. He clings to the streetlight and remembers why he accepted the cigarette. It's a sharp distraction from the cold, and the street slowly moving around him. Now he's just coughing hard enough to gag, fingers wrapped around cold metal.

He's nothing for a moment, nothing but his diaphragm keeping an irregular time. He thinks he hears footsteps. He thinks they stop. He thinks there might be someone in the shadows. He doesn't think much of thinking right now.

He staggers towards the sound instead. The footsteps walk to meet him, and before he's quite made it to the edge of the light there's a silhouette in front of him.

It wouldn't be the first time he's seen Snape. Tall strangers, long hair, big noses, they pass by in a flash and make him double-take. He used to see Fred, too. Even Colin. But this silhouette is burned somewhere deeper than memory, and the primal knot inside his chest is proof. He reaches out, to hold on or to brush away the ghost. His fingertips hit fabric.

"You're drunk."

The voice hits something in him hard. Shock burns through to his fingertips. He stares at them, pressed into darkness, and the world becomes a tight, hot point of focus.

His legs give, and he catches himself against the warmth beneath his hand. It stays firm. For a moment, he is still, then Harry is pulling himself closer, tight against the warm and real, desperation and joy and sensual pleasure, heat against his icy skin. He thinks he's trying to embrace Snape, but he's more collapsed, fingers knotted tightly into Snape's black shirt and heat blooming out across his frozen bones.

"Very drunk," says the voice, a rumble against Harry's cheek, and it sounds dark or maybe pleased. Or maybe something else that Harry doesn't understand because Snape's wand hand is moving. His legs buckle. The streetlamp goes out, and the stars follow.

In the morning, Harry drinks his tea with a raw throat. He thinks he must have been smoking again.


2.

Title: Scandalous Pictures
Thing/Place/Action: Naughty Pictures/Bath/Hiding
Rating/Warnings/Kinks: NSFW. Voyeurism and scandalous pictures!
Notes: I idly typed that I'd write a limerick...so then I had to. Then I had to draw a naked QuidditchTonedThighs!Harry to go with it. The drawble was exactly one hour's work... I know because I set an alarm. An evil alarm. Please to be ignoring the two minutes I took putting on the border.



At Hogwarts there once was a teacher
Who photographed boys in the bleachers
He hid after hours
Inside the boy's showers
And got some quite scandalous pictures!

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